Silver in the Dark
by Meridas
Summary: A certain young thief has spent way too long looking for the person who left him behind. When he finally finds her, it's time to get an answer as to why she ever left.


_**Disclaimer: **__whatever you recognize belongs to Nintendo_

Sothe swore vehemently and kicked a blank wall. It didn't make any difference (if anything it made him feel worse, because now his foot hurt and he was irritated that he'd shown that kind of emotion, even to a brick wall). He took a breath to calm himself, and slid into the shadows of Nevassa's alleys.

He passes a few people, none that he recognized. He did recognize the hungry look in their eyes, but one hard look from him, and a twitch of his hand toward one of his daggers, and the street rats left him alone. Sothe wasn't just a thief anymore — he'd been a soldier, too. Where before he could pull off a quick stab to silence someone or to escape, now he could hold his own in a fight against the odds. He was taller and stronger than when he'd left Nevassa, with much better fighting skills. The only thing that hadn't changed was his determination to find her — after all, that couldn't really go any higher.

Sothe sighed silently as he turned down another dim alley. _What am I doing here? _he thought wearily. _She left you, Sothe. She left. Why would she come back to Daein at all? _

_Shut up, _he snapped at himself. He kicked a stone angrily. He was so distracted that he didn't look up at first at the sound of rushed, pattering footsteps. By the time he realized what it was, and flattened himself to the side of the alley with a knife in his hand, the runner had already skidded into his alley. He stopped, panting, watching the way he'd come from. A cloak hid his face and most of his figure. Sothe waited, concealed by the shadows. If this kid didn't bother him, they could both go on their ways.

Then the kid sighed, and bent down to rest his hands on his knees. He wore faded black gloves on his hands — _her _hands. The hands had to belong to a girl, they were too slim and feminine to be a boy's, especially a boy running around the back streets of Nevassa. Sothe jerked upright at the sight of those gloves. _It can't be… Stop it, you're imagining things, lots of people wear gloves… _but he was moving toward her anyway, not daring to believe, swatting down any spark of hope…

Ten feet from her he stopped, making sure that what he saw was real. She straightened, and pushed her hood away from her face. His heart leapt.

"Micaiah?"

She spun around, silver hair flying and gold eyes wide. "Sothe!" she cried, and the next instant she had flung herself at him, and he caught her and held her tightly. With a jolt he noticed that she was the small one now — he'd grown taller than her in the time they'd been apart.

That thought choked joy at seeing her again. He stepped back.

Micaiah let him go, and wiped her shaking hands quickly across her cheeks. "Oh, Sothe," she murmured. "I—I'm so glad to see you again. I've been looking for you—"

"Why?" he interrupted. The chill in his own voice shocked him, but he was too busy trying to keep down the anger welling up inside him.

Micaiah stared at him. "What do you mean, why? There was a war! I was worried about you!"

"Yeah, there was a war!" he shouted, suddenly no longer caring about control. He had hidden this for so long, but he couldn't anymore. "There was a war across all of Tellius and I couldn't find you!"

"Sothe, I—"

"But I wouldn't have had to," he cut her off. "We wouldn't have had to worry and look for each other if you hadn't _left me behind_."

Tears were running silently down her face, but she no longer tried to wipe them away. Sothe glared at her fiercely, refusing to let her tears wash away his anger. She'd left him, damn it, and he needed to know why.

"I thought," she whispered, "I thought that — I didn't want to hurt you…"

"So you abandoned me?" His voice broke, and he shut up, seething.

Micaiah covered her face with her hands. "Sothe… look at how much you're grown." She looked up at him. "And look how much I have stayed the same."

He studied her warily, unsure what she was getting at. She did look pretty much the same as she always had — but he'd always thought that that was because she was older than him, or that she was a girl… he'd never given it much thought…

"I—I'm not like you, Sothe," she choked out. Suddenly, as if to get it over with, she tore off her glove and thrust her hand at him.

Sothe blinked. "Micaiah, what…" he squinted at her hand in the dim light. There was a mark on her hand he'd never seen before, like a tattoo of swirling, elegant lines. It reminded him of something, he thought vaguely, maybe something he'd seen in the war…

"It's a mark of the Branded, Sothe," she whispered brokenly. Her eyes were cast down, her head hung as she if couldn't look at him. Her hand trembled. "I—I'm part laguz, part beorc. That's why… I felt like I needed to go… I always have to move on, away from people who get to know me, because I don't age the same as beorc. I'm older than you, Sothe, and older than you realize. I don't change as quickly. So I always leave, before they realize what I am…" she swallowed hard. "An abomination."

"No." The word burst from him of its own volition. Micaiah looked up, startled. Sothe reached out and folded her hand in both of his. She really had wanted to protect him, he realized. And how could he fault her for tat, when it was no less that what he wanted to do for her?

"I don't care," he told her fiercely. "You didn't care that I was a thief. I don't give a damn that you've got laguz blood.

"Watch your language," she admonished with a tiny, watery smile. She wiped at her eyes again. She sniffed. "You said laguz."

"Yeah?"

"I thought — I never told you I was Branded… I wanted to, sometimes, but you said 'sub-human' like everyone else in Daein…"

"Well, they don't know you." Sothe offered her the end of his scarf, and she wiped away the last of her tears. "You're not sub anything, Micaiah. You're the most warm-hearted and compassionate person in the world." He scuffed at the ground, feeling slightly awkward. "Nobody who knows you could hate you, Micaiah. Least of all me, and never because of a stupid mark on your hand."

Micaiah was smiling as she pulled her gloves back on. "Thank you, Sothe," she murmured. "That means more to me than you know."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she looked up at him. "No more secrets, Micaiah," he said gravely. "And no more leaving. Not between us. Okay?"

She nodded. "Promise," she whispered. "I promise, Sothe, I won't leave you again. And I won't lie to you. Now promise me back: don't you ever leave me, either."

"I won't," he vowed. "I'll protect you always, Micaiah. We'll stay together till the end."


End file.
